


my boy

by theres-no-comma (littleboxes)



Series: me sobbing about critical role [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Nott was a mom before she met Caleb, Spoilers(sorta)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 10:08:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14258679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleboxes/pseuds/theres-no-comma
Summary: My take on Nott's backstory, inspired by that episode 13 scene





	my boy

He wasn’t pretty in any sense of the word. His ears stuck out wildly, his eyes were too big for his head, and he kept drooling on her. Nott knew he was absolutely perfect.

She named him Tict. He was smaller than your average goblin baby(which was saying something). He made up for it with a viciousness any Elder would envy.

Tict was three when he died. It was night, and the clan was ambushed by a mob of angry human townsfolk. Nott remembers it vividly. She was up in the trees, taking shots at the humans with her crossbow, when she heard a shriek she’d know anywhere. She dropped to the ground and sprinted towards it, slicing the legs of any humans she passed.

Her baby, her _world_ , was cornered by three humans. She arrived just in time to watch as their leader slit his throat. She met his fearful eyes for the last time, and committed the bastards’ faces to memory. Two of the humans she incapacitated with cuts to the back of the knee. The third ran, disappearing into the chaos. Nott remembers the vicious glee she felt as she beheaded each of them(not immediately, no, they didn’t _deserve_ a quick death). She carried the body of her son deep into the forest, uncaring of the battle around her. She buried him in the early hours of the morning in a glade far too pretty for a goblin(the scent of death and flowers would never leave her).

Nott did not return to her clan(what little remained of it, anyway). She made her way to the human town, shortsword in hand, her target’s face fresh in her mind.

Three days later, she was roughly thrown into a jail cell, covered in blood.

Frankly, she was amazed they hadn't killed her immediately(and, if she admitted it to herself, a little disappointed). It took her awhile to notice she wasn’t alone in the cell, awash in her grief as she was. A human man lay curled up in the corner, the haggard looking prisoner uniform practically hanging off his thin frame. He was quiet as a mouse, never speaking to her. Occasionally he would mumble something to himself in a language she didn’t understand. One especially cold morning, that changed.

"What’s your name?"(his voice was raspy with disuse, and he had an accent she couldn’t place).

Nott didn’t respond.

The next day the guards dragged him from the cell, and he returned with a black eye, a split lip, and a limp.

"My name is Nott- Nott the Brave,”(he didn’t acknowledge her voice crack, for which she was grateful).

“My name is Caleb Widogast.”

He looked so grateful at the distraction that she couldn’t just stop talking- and so a bond was formed.

 

* * *

 

Caleb was nothing like Tict. For one thing, he was human. Another, he was quite a bit older than her(even taking into account the differing maturity rates).

He had red hair, not black, and his skin was pale, not green. His ears were of average size(for a human), and he could even practice magic!

And, well, nothing could ever fill the Tict-shaped hole in her heart, but- Caleb _was her boy_.

And this time? Nott would _**die**_ before she would feel that kind of pain again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading! I also run a critical role blog, @theres-no-comma, if you wanna check it out!(I posted this there as well :)


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